


After the Funeral, a sequel

by left2write (left_to_write)



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Family Reunions, Reunions, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8038324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_to_write/pseuds/left2write
Summary: A short story inspired by the relationship between George Abernethie and Susannah Henderson. Although based on the TV film adaptation of Agatha Christie's book, 'After the Funeral', this piece is not a murder mystery, but a love story that explores an imagined future relationship between George and Susannah.After only a few months in Bechuanaland, Susannah accepts her family's requests to come home for the Christmas holidays.





	1. Bye Bye Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a fanfic story based on Agatha Christie's Poirot TV film, 'After the Funeral'. It is admittedly rather sentimental, so just a word of warning for those who may not like slush! I've also tried to keep some of the 1930's England flavour by using typical archaic expressions where appropriate.
> 
> I was especially inspired by x4ashes4ashes, who has written a remarkable blog/commentary on the made-for-TV film.

 

 

George Abernethie gazed out of the large bay window in the drawing room of his new stately home, Enderby, and sighed. The house was to die for and the grounds magnificent, but something - or rather, someone - was missing. Missing in his life and missing even in Enderby. He counted himself lucky that his mother, Helen, with whom he had reconciled after the first few weeks of shock and horror at learning the truth about her illicit relationship with Richard Abenethie, Enderby's former patriarch and his dad Leo's eldest brother, was now there, too.

But it was to his beautiful cousin, Susannah, that he had turned his thoughts. Tall, slender, graceful Susannah. The loveliest of the Abernethie women, in his opinion, and arguably the most caring and solicitous of others. There was a time when his own mother would have fallen into that latter category, according to George, but she rather blew that when 'Uncle' Richard spilled the beans about their longtime betrayal of his de facto father, Leo. No, Helen and Richard's adultery notwithstanding, that honour still had to go to Susannah for her genuine kindness towards others and her readiness to put the needs of strangers before her own.

This admirable quality was a two-edged sword for George. On the one hand, it served to deepen his love and increase his respect for Susannah, but on the other hand it frustrated him and made him feel rather like a petulant child. What about _his_ need of her? He felt self-centred and childish at the thought, but it was how he felt and he wasn't going to pretend otherwise to himself. After all, he rationalised, wasn't charity supposed to begin at home? Couldn't she simply send money and supplies out to Bechuanaland - why did she have to physically be there in person?

He vividly recalled the day she left Enderby. That funny little Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot, had at last put them all out of their misery and revealed the identity of Aunt Cora's murderer; then just a few days later, as soon as Helen had recovered enough to come home from hospital, everyone had piled into their respective cars and driven off. Uncle Timothy looked hopping mad with poor obedient Aunt Maude in tow as always, and Michael and Rosamund left pretty sharpish, too. George smiled inwardly as he remembered Rosamund's squeal of delight when he offered to lend them the money - and the green malachite table - for the new play.

And as for Susannah, well, George had thought his heart would just quietly shatter into a thousand pieces when she looked at him sadly and confirmed that she still intended to go to Africa. After everything they had all been through; even after just about surviving the humiliating (mostly for her, to be honest) revelation of their 'forbidden' love, she was still determined to give it a try.

What he didn't know was the effect his sad expression had had on Susannah. It had taken all of her willpower and single mindedness not to change her mind and throw caution to the wind. So they both remained lovelorn and slightly lost, each one pining in their own way from different parts of the world.

_Oh God, what if she doesn't come home for ages? What if she doesn't come home at all??_

George shuddered at the implications of such a dreadful [for him] possibility, then pulled himself together.

Well, it was no good indulging in another afternoon of emotional foot stamping. The Lord helps those who help themselves, he told himself in a somewhat self-focused twist on the old saying, and he finally resolved to stop doing what everyone else in the family seemed to be doing - things like wringing their hands and saying wistfully what a pity it was that Susie wasn't here, etc - and devise a plan. Yes, he would woo her back. He would write to her and do his best to win her back home and, he hoped, into his arms.

He frowned; tempting her to come to England for the holidays was one thing; convincing her to come back to live in England was quite another; but persuading her to be his lover would be the biggest challenge of all. Yet despite her sincere sense of calling towards the poor children of Africa, George was nevertheless certain that their afternoon in bed at the hotel in Lychett St. Mary on that fateful day after the funeral had crystallised Susannah's decision and hastened her departure.

Susannah's extreme sense of guilt at the timing of their tryst - they had fallen into each others' arms on the very day it was believed Aunt Cora had been murdered - appeared to exceed by a mere trifle the degree of guilt she exhibited at their mutual passion. It was as if she felt sullied by it, whether primarily because she regarded it as incestuous, or whether due in equal measure to her fear of jeopardizing her commitment to the Kasane mission, George was unsure. He wondered if she continued to think much about him (or them) now that several weeks had passed and she was likely well settled into a new routine.

He went to what had been Richard's study and was now his, of course, and opened the top drawer of the fine teak desk. Taking out some writing paper and a fountain pen, he began to compose his letter to his cousin:

 

  _My dearest Susannah,_

 

_I hope you will forgive my writing to you. I realise that what occurred between us was very difficult for you, and I am genuinely sorry if it caused you pain or sorrow. I've been wanting to express my thoughts and feelings for you ever since you departed, but have been unsure of where to start or how much to say._

_Mother says she has written to you out there in Bechuanaland and that she has brought you up to date on things back here. As you know, I am now living at Enderby as per Uncle Richard's wish (I still can't bring myself to refer to him as 'Father'), and I have to admit life is very comfortable. Mother has joined me here, and Lanscombe and the rest of the domestics have all stayed on to help._

_I think of you often out in Africa; no make that, 'I think of you all the time', if I'm honest. I do hope all is going well for you and the mission and that you are happy and fulfilled. Actually, that sounds too formal and stilted, doesn't it? Of course I wouldn't want you to be unhappy ever, but the truth is also that in a very selfish way I must confess that I am hoping you don't feel so happy and fulfilled out there that you'll never want to come back._

_That day we spent together in Lychett St. Mary is permanently seared in my memory, for it was the most joyous day of my life. I know that may sound inappropriate, both in the light of what we learned later about poor Aunt Cora (although Monsieur Poirot said she was probably already dead by the time we would have got there anyway), and in the light of your acute discomfort over our having crossed the line of kinship. I am so sorry if my subsequent behaviour made things even more awkward for you. In truth, I was feeling pretty awkward and confused myself, although it didn't take me more than a day to realise that I loved you. I promise that it was not merely an afternoon's diversion for me; but I believe you know that already._

_You made it clear right from the day of Uncle Richard's funeral that your heart lay in helping the poor in Africa, so I don't doubt that your sense of calling in that direction may well have made you decide to go out there one day. But I do hope that my clumsiness didn't chase you away or cause you to want to leave sooner. I must confess to also hoping that somewhere alongside your deep and altruistic love for Bechuanaland, there might still be a small place for me._

_In any case, you are, to my mind, one of the most valiant and selfless people I have ever known. It goes without saying that it took real courage to travel to a faraway land where who knows what conditions might have greeted you, and all for the sake of people you'd never even met. But you also declared your love for me openly that final day at Enderby, in front of nearly the whole family, and that must have taken even more guts._

_I know that Monsieur Poirot had backed you into a corner and you had no choice but to tell him where you and I had actually been on the day after the funeral, but the fact that you also volunteered to say that you loved me, nearly caused my heart to burst. (Please do excuse the rather sentimental tone here. It has been a time of reminiscing, in part so that I could find the words to write to you.)_

_You may be pleased to hear that I am no longer drinking and gambling away my days. There is far too much to do here and I am slowly coming to terms with what happened between Uncle Richard and Mother. And it was such a relief to be finally convinced that my angry words had not killed him, in spite of his having been so ill by then._

_I really do wish you the very best in your work out there, and we all applaud your selfless efforts. Having inherited all this loot in spite of my attempts at will forging (!), I now find myself in the very advantageous position of being able to offer you some monetary assistance for the mission. Will the enclosed cheque be enough?_

_You do know, I am sure, that you will always be welcome back here. The whole family misses you - particularly Rosamund - and Enderby seems somewhat empty without your presence (even with Mother here). It goes without saying how I feel about it._

_In the meantime, look after yourself, darling, and please write to me from time to time if you are able to._

_Love,_

_George_

 

_P.S.  Is there any chance you might consider coming back home for the Christmas holidays? You could see the whole family, as Mother and I would be happy to have everyone here at Enderby (unless you'd rather we didn't, of course)._  

 

 

Finally, he put the top back on the fountain pen and studied the letter. Would she consider it too forward? Too flowery? Too pleading or rather too presumptuous? Perhaps even a touch formal? Or maybe just too damned desperate? Well, even if it was any or all of those things, so be it, he determined. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, after all. He loved her and he wanted to see her, so it was a no-brainer really. 

_Dear God, what's happened to me?,_ he asked himself.  _I'm turning into a pathetic drip who's not only fallen for the least suitable - and least deserved [by me] - woman in England, I'm begging her to drop everything out there, brave another long sea voyage and return to Northamptonshire to spend time with me._

But even as he articulated those words in his own head, George knew he had no choice. Susannah Henderson may be his cousin, but she was also the love of his life, and if necessary he would spend the rest of his days finding ways to bring her to his side. For that was where she truly belonged, he was convinced of it. He wondered idly if he would be able to bear the conditions in Bechuanaland, should he be unable to persuade her to leave, and assuming she allowed him to stay out there with her. Helen would be heartbroken, to be sure, and even Rosamund would feel further abandoned, but at this moment his heart was threatening to rule his head.

Jolted back to reality by the arrival of the elderly butler, Lanscombe, offering him an early evening aperitif, George was surprised to discover that more than two hours had gone by and it was now six o'clock in the evening. Happy Hour, he said to himself sardonically, thinking ruefully that no time was happy time without _her_.

He shook himself back to the real world and said, "No thank you, Lanscombe. I'm definitely going lighter on the sauce these days."

The old man smiled and replied, "Very good, sir. Mrs Helen said to tell you she'll be down presently for dinner," and bid a respectful retreat.

"Thank you," George answered.

He reckoned there was just enough time to look up and write down Susannah's address on the envelope before his mother appeared. He would wait until the next day, sleeping on it, so to speak. Then, if he was still satisfied with the letter, he would have it taken into town for posting and hope that she would receive it favourably.

 

Over dinner, Helen noticed that George seemed even more distracted than usual and asked him if anything was the matter. She knew, of course, of her son's feelings for his cousin - after all, the whole family had known after those embarrassing revelations to M. Poirot that last day - and she guessed correctly that he was brooding over her again.

"George, are you alright? Are you thinking about Susannah, my dear?" she ventured. It was a touchy subject for obvious reasons but she was convinced it was a dilemma best shared and discussed rather than hidden and perhaps left to fester in an unhappy heart.

Helen had been the least shocked of all the family members at the unorthodox emotional tangle between her son and her niece-by-marriage. And it wasn't simply that, having engaged in a decades long extra-marital affair with her own brother-in-law, she was the least well-positioned to pass judgement. There was also something in her nature that saw nothing intrinsically evil in acknowledging and celebrating romantic love, even when such passion was labelled unconventional, unwholesome or inappropriate.

She had made discreet enquiries into 'family matters' and learned that while society and the Church frowned somewhat on romantic relations between first cousins, there was no absolute legal bar to such a union. Indeed, actual marriage to a cousin was not against the law either, so it was not as if George would be living in daily fear of being arrested, for pity's sake.

The biggest hurdle, she realised, was Susannah herself, with her strong principles and unwavering devotion to her Lord and to the ministry to the poor of another continent.

"I don't want you to think I'm interfering in any way, George," she continued, "but I can't help but see how much you miss her. Why don't we - well, you or I or both - invite her for a visit, say for Christmas? With Rosamund's baby due at the end of December too, she could join us in asking Su - "

"Actually Mother, I'm going to do just that," George interjected. "As a matter of fact, I've already written a letter to her - "

"You have??" cried Helen, a little astonished. She was pleased but somewhat surprised to find him so decisive after weeks and weeks of mooning and indecision.

"Well, I've written a letter, but I haven't posted it yet. As a matter of fact, I literally just wrote it this afternoon while you were with Mrs. Bridges." Mrs Bridges was the head cook/housekeeper who liaised with Helen regarding the planning of the weeks' meals. As the new chatelaine of Enderby, Helen revelled in her luxurious domestic 'duties', eternally grateful that the temporary estrangement from her beloved son had not lasted long.

Gilbert Entwhistle, the Abernethie family solicitor, still carried a torch for Helen and would gladly have proposed to her, but she was very clearly not ready for any romantic overtures. Indeed, she was still feeling keenly the loss of Richard, her great (and secret) love.

"I'm going to give it some final thought tonight and if it still seems a good idea in the morning, I'll have it posted off. In the meantime, I'd be grateful if you didn't say anything to the others."

Helen promised to be discretion personified. "No, no, of course not. Oh, I do hope dear Susannah will come for Christmas!" she exclaimed. _Or maybe longer_ , she whispered to herself under her breath.

_A lot longer,_ thought George. His mother's murmured wish had not escaped George's sharp hearing.

Emboldened by Helen's encouragement, he resolved to send off the letter to his alluring, yet devout, cousin the next day (provided he didn't wake up to a massive attack of self-doubt) and pray for a miracle.

 

 


	2. Out of Africa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long to get back to this little story. I've tried to do it justice but have been very out of practice, so I hope it does not disappoint.

 

 

Susannah Henderson surveyed with a sense of pride the small mission school; she'd been right to come out here to Bechuanaland to help oversee the sale and distribution of the books and other school supplies, but she had to admit to herself that she was homesick.

Of course, it had only been five months, but the ache of longing in her heart for her cousin, George Abernethie, was as strong as ever and, try as she might, she simply could not forget about him, nor about the one afternoon of passion they had spent together. Guilt and shame had been her overriding emotions back then, made all the worse by the horrific events going on around them at the time. She'd made up her mind that she had to get away, and this calling to help the poor widows and children in Africa had seemed like the ideal excuse to flee the 'forbidden' relationship.

Now her sister Rosamund was pleading with her to return to England for the birth of the baby, and her Aunt Helen was asking her to spend Christmas with the family at Enderby. Obviously, George would be there, since he was now installed as lord of the manor (though very unpretentiously), and the knowledge of his presence there was the biggest hurdle for Susannah. Rosamund and Michael would be visiting for the holidays too, of course, and even silly old Uncle Timothy and his poor put-upon wife, Maude, had been invited.

Helen Abernethie, George's mother, was now living at Enderby too, a benevolent and gracious chatelaine. If anyone could smooth ruffled feathers or calm strained nerves it was Helen, and this quality helped Susannah see the invitation to the family reunion in a more favourable - and reassuring - light.

Susannah sighed; she had to admit that she was extremely tempted by the invitations and entreaties, and not just because of her continuing feelings for George. He had written to her once, explaining his feelings for her in a respectful yet quietly emotional tone. Time and separation had given him an opportunity to reflect and to view her decision in a more unselfish way. He could now appreciate more fully how torn she had been between her new love for him and her strong sense of calling to the African mission cause.

Taking out the letter from George that she kept in her handbag at all times lest anyone should find it (and because it kept him close to her - although she would have been loath to acknowledge this to herself), she unfolded the oft-handled missive and read it again for the umpteenth time.

In spite of his expressions of love, she could tell that George had tried hard not to sound as if he were putting undue pressure on her. He was just being emotionally open, something she wouldn't normally have attributed to a man, particularly not a man's man like her cousin. And at one level, she supposed that it could be interpreted as primarily a glorified invitation to spend Christmas at Enderby, thanks to the Postscript. Fighting back tears, Susannah folded his letter back up and began to reflect on Helen's and Rosamund's respective letters, too.

Placing these latter ones in the most private compartment she could find of her modest little desk, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. And, for what may have been only about the second time in her life, Susannah decided to let her heart rule her head. No doubt she would find a means of justifying it to herself at a later date, if need be. But for now, she would answer the call of family (for that was what it really was, surely?) and go back to England  - and most significantly, to Enderby - for the holidays.

Many of the missionaries, support staff and/or volunteers at Kasane had decided to remain there throughout the Christmas holidays, due either to the high cost of travelling to their countries of origin or because Bechuanaland had by then become their adopted home. Thus, there would be no great hardship to these workers, or to the local beneficiaries of their efforts, if just one of them were to slip away back home for the festive season.

 

One month later, Susannah boarded the ship for Southampton and arrived back on English shores after a couple of weeks. She did her best to travel as light as possible, but given that England in winter necessitated completely different clothes than hot and dusty Bechuanaland, she nevertheless had two large cases of belongings. As befitted a daughter of wealth and privilege, she knew there would be someone sent to meet her and help her with her luggage when she arrived.

She was not disappointed. As she began the walk down the gang plank, she caught sight of her Aunt Helen beaming and waving to her, accompanied by the Enderby driver, Andrews. Her heart gave a little flip: it _was_ good to be back. The women embraced warmly as Andrews carried the bags to the car.

"Susannah, you look wonderful!" exclaimed Helen. "Did you have a comfortable voyage? Were the waters calm? Oh, I can't wait for you to catch up with everyone again. Rosamund and Michael are driving down tomorrow, and Timothy and Maude are expected the day after. And... um... George..." she broke off, trying to find a tactful way of introducing him into the conversation.

Susannah raised her eyebrows. "Yes?" she prompted. She had, of course, been looking forward most of all to hearing about - not to mention, seeing - George. Looking forward to it and somewhat dreading it.

Helen simultaneously smiled and bobbed her head slightly in that familiar way of hers. "George will be at Enderby to meet us, of course. As you might imagine, he's been really looking forward to your return." There was a momentary pause before Helen went on, "Susannah..."

The latter cleared her throat nervously and interjected, "Well, you know, Aunt Helen, I'm not sure what my plans are exactly. I may indeed be going back out in the New Year." She uttered the words more with bravado than with any sense of clarity.

"Oh yes dear, of course. I just meant that everyone will be so thrilled to see you again and to hear all about your work," said Helen, mildly chagrined. She did not wish to embarrass her niece, nor to make her feel uncomfortable being back home right from the outset.

Taking Susannah's arm, she gently led her in the direction of the car, while Andrews carried the cases. Placing them carefully in the boot, he then opened the car doors, first for Susannah and then for Helen. It would be a long drive back to the Abernethie family home up north. 

Susannah made the most of the nearly five hour journey to Enderby. She and Helen passed the time chatting away and admiring the views. Helen wanted to know all about Bechuanaland and Susannah was only too happy to oblige, sharing her experiences about the mission school and showing her a few little snapshots that she had somehow managed to get developed in the nearest big town.

For Susannah, a vital part of this last leg of the journey was to visually drink in the English countryside (albeit a sight that was much less green and lush in winter) that she had missed even more than she had realised, and commit it to memory for the months and perhaps years ahead when she might end up back on another continent after all.

Life, however, has a way of interrupting one's plans, and George Abernethie was going to do his best to oblige in this with regard to Susannah's. He really didn't want to lose the same girl twice.

Besides, he was becoming increasingly certain that it was not only that the depth and strength of their love for one another demanded a shared life. It was, quite simply, their destiny.

 

After what seemed an interminable length of time, George was finally rewarded with the sight of Andrews drawing up to the front entrance in the smart black motor with the ladies just visible in the luxurious leather seat behind him. George had been looking out from the largest of the bay windows in the main drawing room and checking the clock every quarter of an hour or so. When at last the car came into view as it pulled up the long drive from the gates half a mile below, he felt his heart pounding in his chest and hoped it would not be too obvious when he greeted Susannah. 

Susannah, for her part, was experiencing a serious case of butterflies herself in anticipation of their reunion. She felt a momentary pang of doubt and uncertainty. Had she done the right thing in coming back to England so soon? Of course she had missed her family and friends, not to mention the beauty of the English countryside, but she knew better than to kid herself that the primary motivation had not been to see George again.

She mentally chided herself for giving in so easily to the temptation, even as she rationalised the altruistic aspects of her decision to visit. After all, Rosamund could definitely do with some company and moral support with her impending foray into the great unknown that is first-time motherhood. In spite of their occasional jibes at one another over the years (mostly from Rosamund, it had to be said), the sisters were at core surprisingly loyal to one another and had that innate understanding of what it was like to grow up in that rarefied - if at times somewhat dysfunctional - world of Enderby and the extended Abernethie family, an experience that no outsider could fully appreciate.

Fortunately, relations were much better now between Rosamund and Michael, and his little theatrical flings were a thing of the past. Paradoxically, it had been his love for his wife that had indirectly led to his brief dalliances, as his insecurity about her love for him caused him to foolishly seek comfort elsewhere. For her part, Rosamund had worried that she was not desirable enough for her handsome husband and had at times been defensively cool towards him in an unconscious attempt at emotional self-protection.

Susannah, perceptive and empathetic when it came to others, had recognised the dynamic between her sister and brother-in-law, and the irony was not lost on her. Perhaps it had even been a factor in her determination to steer clear of romantic entanglements and/or intrigue herself. Until she met the grown up George again, that is. Playing together as children - often at Enderby during their frequent family get-togethers - had not prepared either one of them for the irresistible chemistry that would overwhelm them both as adults.

Taking Andrews' hand as she stepped down from the elegant black Bentley, Susannah looked up at the magnificent stately home and then straight into the eyes of the man she loved.

 _Oh, thank goodness, she hasn't changed a bit; she's still as beautiful as ever,_ he thought to himself. He marvelled at how, in spite of all those months in an intemperate climate, and a sea voyage that would not be the envy of the average refined English lady, this exceptional young woman looked as poised and lovely as he'd remembered her.

If George thought that Susannah's appearance hadn't changed at all, Susannah's reaction to George's was somewhat different. His very handsome features notwithstanding, she perceived in him a new air of stability that had not been evident at their last meeting. Granted, there had been a certain animal magnetism that one often detects just below the surface of what one might loosely term 'wild boys', but gazing at him now, Susannah sensed that George had gained a new maturity without having lost much, if any, of his old charisma.

It was an irresistible combination; in layman's terms, he was undeniably gorgeous.

"Hello, Susannah, welcome back to Enderby. I hope you had a pleasant journey," he said politely, and with a shy smile. George's voice may have sounded slightly diffident but his eyes could scarcely conceal the power of his emotions at seeing her again.

Susannah smiled back. "Hello George, it's very good of you to invite me. I must admit I have missed it." _And you._

Accepting the arm he proffered, Susannah accompanied George and Helen into the grand entrance hall and then on into the drawing room where Lanscombe had prepared glasses of champagne and canapes, while one of the maids took Susannah's cases up to the room in which she would be staying.

"So," asked George with typical British understatement, "how was Africa?" But his eyes were shining and there was a definite curve playing round the corner of his lips.

Hoping that he would not notice the tightening she felt in her throat as she nearly wilted under his penetrating gaze, Susannah haltingly replied.

"Um, well it was certainly... different," was all she could manage.

"Different from what you were expecting or just different from here?" George followed up.

"Mostly the latter," came the more assured response. Susannah, after all, had not travelled all the way to a very different continent without having _some_ idea what it would be like or without having done a modicum of research. She had already corresponded with a number of retired and/or returning missionaries to Africa and had received fair - and not at all unrealistic - impressions from their recollections.

George's eyes seemed to be studying her, perhaps waiting (and certainly hoping) for some small indication that she was as glad to be back as he was to have her back, however temporarily that might prove to be. He dared to believe he could detect a trace of such emotion.

_But even so, is she just glad to be back in England (maybe even Enderby), or is she actually glad to be here beside me?_

Wobbling somewhat under her cousin's intense gaze, Susannah sought a kind of relief by casting her eyes around the drawing room. She noted that it seemed virtually unaltered since she and the rest of the surviving Abernethie clan were last there.

In spite of the fact that that had been the day when Monsieur Poirot had finally revealed to the family who had killed Aunt Cora (and why), not to mention the occasion when she had been forced to confess the secret tryst with George, Susannah nevertheless found it rather reassuring that the room looked the same. There was something comforting about an unchanged Enderby after her life of recent upheaval and decidedly unglamorous adventure. 

"Everything looks much the same so far," she ventured to George. "I think that's nice," she added with a bashful smile.

"Well, you know Mother," he replied with a slightly sardonic arch of his brow, "such a stickler for tradition. Particularly since it's her beloved Enderby. Strange, because, of course, I didn't grow up here but... you know... with Uncle Richard's being... erm… my real father and the true love of her life... everything must be preserved."

George was by now resigned to the uncomfortable truth about his parentage and, although he didn't like it, he had grown to accept it. At any rate, he was pleased to see his mother blossom at Enderby, as if it were where she had really always belonged.

"I don't mind, actually. It's good to see her happy." He knew he must have come a long way if he could say that with sincerity.

Susannah nodded and smiled somewhat conspiratorially. She had always been extremely fond of Helen. She agreed that it was good to see her aunt-by-marriage contented and at home in the family manor.

While they were on the subject of 'home', George decided to broach a related, potentially delicate, question. Softly clearing his throat, he asked her, "Are you staying on through the New Year, Susannah?"

Susannah blushed faintly and stuttered, "Oh... um... well... I... ah... I'm not really sure, to tell you the truth." Then she remembered she had the perfect 'out': "I think a lot will depend on how much help or support Rosamund may need." 

"Oh yes, of course," George agreed rather too hastily. "I just meant that Mother and I wanted you to know that you're welcome to stay at Enderby as long as you like."

"Gosh, yes, thank you. That's very kind of you." Time to steer the conversation in another direction. "By the way, do you know what time tomorrow she and Michael are due to arrive?"

"Oh, you'll have to ask Mother about that. I think she mentioned that they would be here in time for dinner, though."

"Speaking of which," chimed in Helen who had just joined the pair after tactfully giving them a few minutes alone to reacquaint themselves, "I hope ours will be ready soon. Perhaps I had better go and have a word with Mrs Bridges. I expect you're quite hungry by now, Susannah?"

Grateful for Helen's arrival at her side, Susannah nodded cheerfully. "Yes, I _am_ rather, thanks. It's been a fairly tiring day and there wasn't much opportunity to grab a bite to eat."

"Excellent; I'll pop in to see Mrs Bridges and find out what progress is being made on that front. Do excuse me, please." Helen then swirled round gracefully and headed in the direction of the large kitchen.

Susannah smiled broadly after her. "I see what you mean about her. Aunt Helen looks to be well and truly in her element here."

George thought to himself: _Yes, she is, but she also knows that one day there may be a new mistress of the house and she won't mind at all provided we continue to make room for her here, too._

Aloud he said with an impish grin, "Hmm, I told you so."

 

Dinner proved to be a rather sedate affair as both Helen and George were cognizant of the fact that Susannah would likely feel fatigued after her long journey. They took special care to be sensitive and restrained in their request for tales of Bechuanaland and her experiences at the Kasane mission.

After the meal, she opted to forgo the customary coffee and instead retired to her room where she had a lovely long hot soak in the bath and, shortly afterwards, fell fast asleep until morning.

George, on the other hand, had a fitful night as his mind raced all over the place with thoughts and visions of his beautiful cousin, freshly returned to England - and Enderby - after some six agonizing months away. He hugged her close in his heart for what few hours of dreaming his restlessness afforded him, and was glad that it would not be long until breakfast time when he would have the joy of seeing her again.

 

 


End file.
